


Restless - A McLennon Drabble

by orphan_account



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, The Beatles - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:39:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7260463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul sees a literal ghost from his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restless - A McLennon Drabble

God, he hated these nights. He would wake up, burning hot and sweating, hours before the crack of dawn, and could simply not go back to sleep. As he always did on these god-forsaken nights,  
he made himself a cup of tea, and clicked on the TV, watching whatever was on (usually some infomercial) on low volume. He sighed, sitting his still too hot tea onto the coffee table, and rubbing  
his face. This was the worst. He was exhausted, his head hurt, and he had a lot of work to do in the morning. And worst of all, as he stared blankly at his television, his mind would begin to wander.

He could feel his eyes begin to well up with tears already as everything that had happened to him so far came back to him. All the pain, the anger, the sorrow... He buried his face into his hands,  
doing his best not to cry. He just wanted to go back to sleep, to not have those feelings resurface. He wanted it to stop hurting. "Please.." he whispered desperately to no one. He needed someone.  
He needed comfort. He needed someone to wrap their arms around him and tell him it was going to be OK. He considered waking up Linda, but decided against it. 'It wouldn't be fair to her, waking  
her up in the middle of the night like this...' he thought.

There was a noticeable change in the air all of a sudden. It felt cold. Not an unpleasant cold, but rather an oddly comforting cool sensation around him. Trembling, he looked up from his hands,  
glancing around the room. Nothing. He closed his eyes, and let out a deep sigh. He considered checking the thermostat, in case it had been the culprit of the sudden change in temperature, but  
decided against it, simply because he didn't want to get up. And then it happened. An odd sensation on his shoulder, like someone with an icy cold hand had touched him. He shivered, the hairs  
on the back of his neck standing up. 'I'm imagining things.' he thought, though deep down he didn't believe it.

And then he heard it. He was certain, he had to be hallucinating from sleep deprivation. "Macca..." a voice, barely a whisper, called from somewhere in the room. He glanced around the room,  
illuminated only by the light of the TV. His gaze shifted to the empty space on the couch beside him. And there he was. "John..." he whispered, his voice cracking as the tears in his eyes emerged  
once again. He didn't look like those ghosts that they showed on TV. He was solid, and not some shade of white. He looked like he was still very much alive.

He didn't look like what he did around the time he died. He looked just like he did the first day he and Paul had met, every moment of that day engraved into him mind forever. A gentle, caring  
smile was plastered across his face, seemingly permanently. The other man felt paralyzed as John moved his hand toward the other man's face, his cool fingertips brushing against his cheek. A sense  
of calm washed over him, and he felt compelled to lie down. As he did, he could feel John's hand on his, their fingers entertwining. "You can sleep now, Macca," he whispered "I'm here now."  
And as Paul began to drift into unconsciousness, his lips curled into a smile. His John would always be there for him, even though he wasn't on this Earth anymore.


End file.
